Monkey Tails

When I was younger, my parents would occasionally take me to the local Dairy Queen for treats. My dad would get sundaes, my mom would get blizzards, my sister would get towering cones of chocolate ice cream, and I would get Monkey Tails. Because, to a nine year old me, frozen bananas were much more delicious than hot fudge and sprinkles (and I think they always will be).

Recently, I have been swept with a burst of childhood whimsy. You can spot me eating caramel apples, singing camp songs, and swinging at the local playground. And so, when I remembered Monkey Tails earlier today, I vowed to make them.

My sister and her lovely friend were the recipients of these Monkey Tails. Though, with their teenage minds, they took my innocent, childhood frozen bananas and turned them into more "that's what she said" jokes than I care to admit. I forgive them. Once that first bite is taken, childhood rushes back and hits you with such a force that you cannot help but be nostalgic.

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